


Ghost

by sharkie335



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Incest, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-17
Updated: 2010-09-17
Packaged: 2017-10-11 22:31:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/117819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sharkie335/pseuds/sharkie335
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The nightmares, not visions, visions they could handle at this point, but nightmares came in cycles. They were always the worst right about now - around the anniversary of Jess's death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ghost

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wee_boo who asked for: " Present 'verse or future 'verse. Sam can't get it up for the ladeez...! Dean helps him out." This probably isn't what you were thinking of, but it was the best I could come up with.
> 
> Beta'd by shay_renoylds

Dean yawned and stretched, resisting the urge to look over at Sammy's bed. He valued this moment of the morning, where he could pretend that maybe Sam had slept through the night, that maybe today he wouldn't be so pissy. That maybe those dark circles around Sam's eyes would have faded for once.

There were sounds of grumbling, and Sam turned restlessly, pulling Dean's eyes over unwillingly. Sam _looked_ asleep, but the sheets twisted around his legs and the arm over his eyes gave it away - Sam was at least partially awake, and from the look of it, he'd had another rough night.

He wanted to say something, do something to fix things, but he knew from experience that he couldn't. The nightmares, not visions, visions they could handle at this point, but nightmares came in cycles. They were always the worst right about now - around the anniversary of Jess's death.

Sam still wouldn't talk about them. Once, when Dean had managed to get him drunk in an effort to help him get some much needed rest, Sam had bent enough to tell him that they were about fire. But nothing else.

There was a grunt, and Sam shoved himself up, so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed. Dean averted his eyes, not wanting to see the hard on that gave lie to the dreams being as simple as fire. Fire he could handle.

Sex dreams coming from his younger brother were something else entirely.

Especially since, with Sam around, Dean hardly ever got laid. It wasn't that he wasn't interested, or even because of any shortage of available women. It was because Sam lived the life of a god damned monk, and after all these years, it made Dean uncomfortable to tell Sam to get out of their room so he could catch a quick bit of nookie. He could do without - obviously - and lack of sex hadn't killed anyone yet.

When Sam stood up and made his way to the bathroom without saying anything, Dean tried to tear his eyes away from Sam's ass. Yeah, he could go without, just fine.

***

Sam leaned up against the wall of the shower and gritted his teeth. Cold, cold, the water was cold, but it wasn't doing a damn thing about the erection he was sporting, hard and thick between his thighs.

He could handle - almost - the dreams about Jess dying. It was the dreams about her _living_ that he had trouble with at this point. Of the two of them and the white picket fence, with two kids and a dog. Or, like last night, of the two of them in bed together, making love for hours.

Logically, he knew it was a dream, but he could still taste the salty-sweet of her come on his tongue, feel the silky wet grasp of her around his cock. He could hear the soft, breathy moans that she'd made when he touched her just right. He could smell the rich musk of her... and he'd never do any of those things again.

Balling up his hand, he punched the tile, gasping when sudden pain flared through his knuckles. At least that finally made his cock go down, so it might have been worth it, as long as he didn't break anything.

Grabbing the washcloth in his uninjured left hand, he washed himself off and stumbled back out of the water quickly, teeth chattering. Cautiously, he tried to make a fist with his right hand.

It hurt, but not like it was fractured, and Sam smiled coldly into the mirror. _Now_ he could get through the day.

***

It had been another exhausting day. The poltergeist they were hunting was trickier than others they'd gone after, and had chased them through the house. At one point, it had managed to knock Sam's feet out from under him, and when Dean had turned back to try and grab him, he had the weirdest fucking expression on his face.

It was almost a fierce sort of joy, and when Sam had gasped out for Dean to leave him and go back to driving the son of a bitch out of the house, Dean had swallowed back the nausea that had been inspired.

One hard grab, and he had Sam's arm in his hands, pulling him away, pulling him _up_. "Not leaving you behind, Sammy," he said, grimly, as he shot blessed rock salt over his shoulder.

By the time the damned thing was destroyed, Sam wasn't speaking to him - again - and had marched off in cold silence. Dean took a moment to lean against the wall. Nice wall, good wall. Right at that moment, Dean would have had sex with the wall if it was possible. Fighting always got his blood pumping, made him hornier than shit, but Sam shared none of that joy. For Sam, this was a job, that was all.

Finally, Dean felt calm enough that he could follow Sam out to where the Impala was parked. "You want to tell me what that was back there?"

Sam shook his head, still leaning against the car. "Don't want to talk about it. Let's get going. I need a shower and some food."

Dean knew that it was a lie. Sam would order whatever Dean did, and then push it around on his plate till Dean finished, but none of the food would actually make it to his mouth.

Opening his mouth, he started to argue, but the stubborn set of Sam's mouth told him that it would just be a waste of breath. They could afford to spend the money, since the homeowners had actually paid for their help this time, and maybe he would be wrong.

Even if he wasn't.

Silently, the two of them got in the car, and Sam turned the radio off with a sound of disgust when Metalhead came on. Dean wanted to argue, wanted to fight with Sam till his brother started acting like himself again, but he knew to wait till they weren't in the car if he didn't want to risk an accident when Sam punched him. When, not if, because Dean knew that Sam wouldn't open his mouth and just tell him what was wrong, and Dean was a master of getting under Sam's skin.

Maybe he could force a fight, and then Sam would be better for a few days. It worked sometimes, but not often. Usually, Sam just layered the guilt on top of the anger and annoyance that he was already expressing. Maybe he should just leave it alone this time, Dean mused to himself.

Sam shifted uncomfortably, and Dean glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. Even with that quick look, he could see that Sam was hard and trying to cover it up with the edge of his sweatshirt.

If it had been anyone else, Dean would have suggested that maybe they should stop at the bar, get a few drinks. Maybe see if they could get in a fight or pick up some chicks. Anything to give them something to do with all the adrenaline they both had flooding their systems.

Any other time of the year, he might have a chance for the fight, though the girls were right out. But right now, there was no way that Sam would be willing to stop at all, and Dean swallowed a sigh.

They were back at the hotel sooner than Dean expected, and Sam slammed his way out of the car and into the room with an almost inaudible curse, leaving Dean to trail behind him. Taking a deep breath, he stepped into the room, not certain what he was going to be facing.

Sam, half naked and stepping out of his jeans, wasn't anywhere on the list of possibles, yet here it was. For once, Dean didn't look away, instead studying the scars that laced Sam's body, the way his ribs stood out in sharp relief. Sam was always skinny, but he'd skipped far too many meals of late and it showed.

Unfortunately, he didn't look away fast enough when Sam lifted his head, and he caught him looking. "What now, Dean?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. "It's just... " and now words were coming out faster than he could stop them. "Don't you think it's time you just let this all go? I didn't know Jess, but I can't imagine that this is what she would have wanted for you!" Dean gestured at Sam, including everything that Sam was doing to himself in that word - the not eating, the stupid risks. The attitude that was going to get him killed.

"You're right." Dean couldn't believe his ears, only to have his barely risen hopes dashed. "You didn't know Jess. She wanted me to have a fucking normal life with her, not this... this... this parody. So don't tell me what to do. I watch your back, I keep it together. Things just get... hard at this time of year. You know that!"

"I know, but what you're doing isn't healthy, Sammy. You're not sleeping, barely eating, and you were going to let that bitch of a poltergeist take you." Sam started to say something, and Dean cut him off. "There's mourning Jess, and there's obsession, Sam, and you crossed the line a long time ago. I never thought I'd say this, but you're worse than Dad. At least he'd occasionally accept a little human companionship!"

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, mouth working silently. Then he seemed to explode into motion, coming to his feet and punching out at Dean all at once. Even halfway expecting it, Dean didn't manage to block it, and the punch landed at the corner of his mouth, knocking him back.

He would have stayed on his feet, but he caught the corner of the other bed behind his legs and tripped, going down. Before he could shake it off and get back on his feet, Sam was over him, pulling back to punch him again.

Dean didn't give him the chance, rolling the two of them over and trying to pin Sam's hands to the floor. "Dammit, Sammy! Look at yourself!"

Sam thrashed beneath him, not hearing him, just struggling to get away, to get free. Dean gritted his teeth and fought him back, using every trick he could think of to hold Sam still. It was fucking hard, because Sam had arms like a gorilla's and seemed determined to get loose no matter how he hurt Dean in the process.

It didn't help that Dean was being thoroughly distracted by the fact that Sam was only wearing a pair of boxers, and was sporting wood like no one's business. He couldn't let go of Sam's wrists, and he couldn't get off of him, and he couldn't just let go, because god only knew what Sam would do if he did.

Then Sam pulled those long gorilla arms above his head, yanking Dean flat with them, and now he was literally face to face with Sam and what else was he going to do? He kissed him.

Full of teeth, almost more of a bite than a kiss, but it was hot and hard and heavy and, oh, fucking god, Sam tasted good even over the taste of his own blood. Dean moaned and tilted his head, trying to gentle the kiss somewhat, trying to force himself to back up. He wasn't going to do this to his brother. He was going to keep his perverted fantasy life just that, a fantasy.

Sam growled beneath him and took advantage of Dean's lapse in attention to push him back, push him off. Dean tensed, expecting to have Sam try to run, only to get shoved over on to his back and have Sam's mouth descend back to his.

He ran his hands into Sam's hair, pulling him down into a deeper kiss, letting all of the reasons they shouldn't be doing this fly out of the window. He knew, _knew_ it was wrong - knew that if Sam was thinking, if _he_ was, this wouldn't be happening. But he couldn't bring himself to care.

Instead, he worked one leg up between Sam's thighs, grinding into the hardness he felt there. His hands fell to Sam's hips, guiding him into a hard, fast rhythm. "C'mon, Sammy, c'mon," he murmured against Sam's lips, and it didn't take long for Sam to stiffen beneath his hands and then there was a flood of wetness that was quickly soaking into his jeans.

Sam was shaking and shivering under his hands, and Dean kept kissing him, running soothing hands down his back. "Shhhh.... it's okay. It'll all be alright."

"Dean... I..." Sam couldn't seem to put a sentence together, but Dean could guess the gist of it. As far as he knew, he was the first person to touch Sam like this since Jess had died years earlier.

Sam seemed to realize that he didn't need to say anything else, and just rested his forehead against Dean's neck, weight comfortable above him. Dean never stopped petting him, ignoring the fact that he hadn't come, that his cock was being bent in an uncomfortable way inside his jeans. He could ignore all of that as long as he needed to if it meant that Sam might actually relax a little.

When the shaking stopped, Dean helped Sam roll off of him and then tugged him to his feet. "Why don't you take a shower, okay? I'll just... I'll get cleaned up when you're done."

He was still dazed and confused from his orgasm. He had to be. That was the only reason that Dean could think of that he'd allow Dean to tell him what to do without arguing, but Dean wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth, and instead took advantage of it to send Sam off to the bathroom.

Stripping off his jeans, he grimaced at the mess over the thigh. The release of pressure over his cock made him gasp in relief, and it was all he could do not to take himself in hand right this second. But that might scare Sam if he walked in on it, and that was the last thing he wanted to happen.

He was just thinking about whether or not there might be enough time to do it anyway when the bathroom door opened again. "Sam?"

Sam didn't say anything, just walking towards him with a familiar look of determination. He stopped in front of Dean, and then dropped to his knees. Dean started to say, "No, don't," but before he could form the words, Sam's hands were on his legs, urging him to spread them, and when they reached the apex and caressed Dean through his shorts, he gasped and cooperated.

Falling backwards on the bed, he stared at the ceiling as Sam pulled him out of his shorts and touched him lightly, gently, without a word. Dean wanted to stop him, wanted to tell him that it was okay, he didn't have to do this, but it was so close to his fantasy and he was only human, right?

Then Sam licked his cock and Dean couldn't help the curse that dropped from his lips. "Jesus, Sammy - you, you don't have to..."

But Sam still didn't say anything, just slowly licking his way around the head of Dean's cock, and then taking it into his mouth. Dean struggled to get up on his elbows, to open his eyes so he could watch.

Sam looked obscene like that, lips red and shining and stretched around Dean's cock. It wasn't the best blowjob that Dean had ever had, but it was _Sam_ and that meant more than any amount of skill.

His hands were tight fists and he could feel the muscles in his legs and stomach tighten and he was going to go, going to pop like a cork in a fuckin' bottle in about two seconds because this was something that he hadn't dared dream that he'd ever be able to have, no matter how much he wanted it, no matter what he did.

"Sam... Sammy... Gonna... Gonna come, Sammy..." And Sam pulled off his cock with a soft pop but it didn't matter because his hand was right there, pulling and twisting and rubbing and with a low groan, Dean was coming all over himself.

***

After Dean had come, Sam climbed back to his feet and went into the bathroom, where he leaned against the sink for a long moment, hands and knees shaking. Closing his eyes so he wouldn't have to see his own reflection, he waited for that moment when the crushing guilt would rush in and overwhelm him.

 _Fuck, Jess... I'm sorry. Sorry, but I couldn't not do it. I had to... I_ wanted _to. Wanted to give Dean something back. Could you - would you forgive me?_

He heard Dean outside the door, but he didn't knock, didn't make any effort to come in. Just stood there, like he was waiting for Sam to freak out. _Little does he know that it's too late._

The frightening part, the part that made him want to be sick, and shower till his skin was blistering, was that he wanted to do it again. He wanted to go back into that bedroom and crawl into bed with Dean and see what else they could do. But he'd been faithful to Jess - to her memory - for so long, that it felt like he was cheating on her.

When the soft touch on his cheek came, he flinched away. A second, no more than a breath of air, and a soft voice that he somehow knew was only in his head. _Sam_.

Opening his eyes, he saw Jess in the mirror. She was standing behind and to one side, dressed in that Smurf shirt that she used to wear to bed. What she'd been wearing the last time he saw her alive.

He wanted to turn, wanted to wrap his arms around her and never let her go, but his muscles were frozen, refusing to let him move. _It's okay, Sam. It's time to move on... for both of us._

"What, Jess? No!"

Dean apparently heard him, because suddenly there was his voice. "Sam? You okay in there? What's going on?"

 _Be happy, Sam. I love you._

The force that had been holding him frozen disappeared, and with it, Jess's ghost. Sam collapsed against the sink, only barely catching himself. There was a rattling sound coming from the door, but he ignored it, staring at the mirror in some hope of seeing her again.

When the door popped open, Sam turned and looked blindly at Dean. "Sam? What's happening? You losing it on me?"

Sam reached out and grabbed Dean by the shoulder and pulled him close. What could he say? Dean would either not believe him or believe him too much and there was no way that Sam was digging up Jess's bones to burn them. "It... It's okay, Dean. I'm okay."

Dean didn't look like he believed him, but he wasn't arguing either. Instead, he moved close enough to wrap his arms around Sam's waist and pulling him in for a quick, tight hug. "You think you could, uh, get in the shower now? Or maybe I should come with you?"

He started to shake his head no, but instead, some little voice in his head prompted him to tug Dean over to the tub with him and then climb in, waiting to see what Dean would do. He couldn't say he was surprised when Dean took that as an offer and climbed in after him.

It wasn't the smoothest that Sam had ever been - he kept bumping his elbows into things, like the wall and the curtain and at least once into Dean's chest - but there was something about it that felt _right_ \- and it wasn't just that he'd had something resembling sex for the first time in years.

It was the way that Dean touched him, like he knew what Sam was thinking and actually gave a damn. After everything that Sam had put Dean through, that was a hell of a lot.

They were both quiet through the shower, and it was only when they finished drying off and went back in the bedroom that Sam started to feel hopelessly out of his depth. "Um."

"Yeah." Dean's eyes flicked from one bed to the other and then to Sam. "You know. We could sleep together. If you want."

Some tension drained out of Sam's shoulders at the words. Maybe this was going to be weird, but at least it was weird for both of them. "We could do that."

***

When Dean opened his eyes, he could just vaguely see the light trying to fight its way past the ugly brown curtains. For a moment, he was tempted to close them again, go back to that dream he was having where he'd kissed Sam and then gotten blown by him, but there was a warm body curled up against his back, one that was making soft, sleepy noises, and he liked hearing them too much to lose them to dreaming.

Slowly, he reached behind himself and found a hip. Resting his hand there, he relaxed into the mattress, letting himself doze till the body moved slightly, stretching. "So, it wasn't a dream then."

Only then did Dean turn over to face Sam, focusing on staring him in the face rather than looking anywhere else, no matter how much he wanted to. "No, it wasn't. You doing okay this morning, Sammy?"

"How many times do I have to tell you not to call me Sammy?" But the words held none of the bite that had been there as little as a day before. Instead, they sounded relaxed and rested.

"You'll know when I stop." And Dean took his bravery in both hands and leaned in to kiss Sam gently. At least, he meant to be gentle, but Sam apparently had other ideas, rolling them so Dean was on the bottom, kissing him hard enough to break open his lip again.

When he finally pulled away, Dean gasped for a moment, feeling their cocks pressing together, and oh, god, he was horny. Rocking his pelvis up into Sam's, he tested the waters, and when that didn't get anything but an answering hiss and movement, he forced himself to open his mouth and say something.

It was supposed to be hot and provocative. Barring that, it was supposed to be funny, because that's what he did.

What came out was, "You can fuck me if you want."

Sam froze, and his eyes grew as large as the cartoons that Dean never ever watched, even when they had a hotel that had cable and Sam insisted on watching anime late at night.

"You sure?"

Dean nodded, his mouth dry. So what if he hadn't done it since he'd been in New Orleans that time, and even before that his experience with guys was pretty rudimentary? This was _Sam_. "Just... go slow."

Then Sam's weight disappeared, and for a moment, Dean started to panic. This must have been the sticking point for Sam, and he'd pushed him too far. Then Sam was back, the bottle of hand lotion from the bathroom, and when he blanketed Dean with his weight, he shivered. This could be so fucking good.

"You done this before, Sammy?"

"Yeah. With..." He didn't say her name, didn't have to. But it was all right, because Dean knew who Sam meant, and he didn't need to say her name to get the meaning across.

Instead, he popped the top on the lotion and squirted some on his fingers, rubbing them together slowly. Dean's mouth went dry at the sight, and spread his legs a little further apart.

Sam slipped his hand between Dean's legs, and then there was a soft pressure at Dean's opening. One finger slid in, and Dean closed his eyes, breathing softly. One became two, and with a moan, Dean bent his knees, trying to encourage Sam to go deeper. "Now, Sammy. It's enough, now."

Dean could hear Sam taking a deep breath, and then he was empty as the fingers slid free. "How do you want to do this?"

Tugging Sam over on top of himself, Dean said, "Just like this, Sammy. Want to see your face."

Nodding, Sam lined himself up carefully and slid in slowly. His eyes closed, and he moaned. Dean wrapped his arms around his shoulders. "Open your eyes, Sammy. Want you to see _me_."

Sam's eyes flew open, and he smiled down at him, but his face was strained. "You okay?"

Laughing hoarsely, Sam nodded. "Yeah, I'm great. Just trying not to come."

"Why don't you just start moving then?" Dean shifted restlessly.

Sam bit his lip and then he was shifting, sliding, and Dean squeezed harder, knowing that he was leaving bruises but not really caring. The feeling of fullness was fucking incredible, and then Sam changed angles and Dean stopped thinking, just focusing on feeling.

It couldn't last long for either of them, but it didn't have to. Sam pressed hard and deep, leaving Dean crying out and writhing. One hand slipped down, between them, and he jerked his cock once, twice, three times in time with Sam, and then he cried out again, coming over his stomach.

Sam's thrusts grew erratic, and he moaned as he came, collapsing face forward into Dean's chest.

"That was..."

"Yeah," Dean said. "That was."

With a groan, Sam rolled to one side and flopped onto his back, leaving Dean to catch his breath. "Look, Dean, I'm sorry."

"Well, do us both a favour, okay? The next time it gets to be too much, be honest with me and maybe we can do something about it together?" Dean could feel the bed move as Sam nodded. "And listen, if you need to punch me again, not in the face."

Sam started laughing.


End file.
